Angel With A Fiddle
by RemyDico5
Summary: On the night before John is to be deployed to Germany, he goes with his mates to a Carnival where he meets an extraordinary man. Written for Chibistarlyte for the Sherlock Secret Santa on Tumblr.


**Angel with a Fiddle****  
****Bette Wolf Duncan******

Tall 'n lean 'n lanky,  
with a fiddle 'neath his chin...  
the days weren't quite so cruel  
when he played his violin.

* * *

**The Fool**

It was the eve of his deployment and John Watson wanted one last shag before he went off to possibly die for Queen and Country. There was a carnival in town and the lads wanted to go there and have a good time. John had tagged along even if he wasn't entirely sure why. He'd always found those sorts of places sad and uncomfortable, the way people were demeaned for being different. Then again, if they could find a way to use it to their advantage, good on them.

The men John had come with were loud and boisterous, trying to hit on any women they crossed paths with. John hung back and watched, chuckling when one of his mates got turned down spectacularly. The group of boys headed straight for the cootch show, pushing each other in their rush to get into the tent and see topless women.

John waited, giggling lightly to himself at his friends' eagerness to get inside. "Coming John?" Bill Muarry asked, turning back to him.

"Be right in." John nodded and Bill did the same in response before shoving Joe out of the way and disappearing inside. John took the opportunity to take a look around. His eyes fell on a tall, dark figure leaning against the pole of the tent. The only light around him was the tiny glow from the tip of his cigarette as he raised it to his lips.

John was transfixed for a moment, watching as the man exhaled smoke slowly, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. He wore a white shirt that wasn't quite as crisp and bright as it had once been. Over it he wore a gray vest unbuttoned. His black trousers accentuated his long legs, going on until they ended at his bare feet.

John turned away, beginning to blush from staring for so long. He walked a few steps closer to the tent when the man spoke to him. "You don't want to go in there."

"I beg your pardon?" John asked, turning around. The stranger had stepped into the light, no longer under the shadow of the tent.

"There's nothing of interest in there for you." The tall man said, dropped his cigarette. He looked down pointedly and John did him the favor it stamping it out with his shoe.

"Actually I think I might like it." John glanced at the tent and then back at the barefooted man.

"And I think from the way you were just staring at me, you wouldn't be interested."

"I – I wasn't…I was just surprised." John swallowed around the lump in his throat and turned his head away in shame. "You don't look like you belong here."

"There are more types of freaks than women with beards or men who look like they have a lizards skin. This place is a sanctuary for people who don't belong."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume…"

"It's fine." The man waved it off.

"So are you psychic? A fortune teller or something like that?" John asked, smiling up at the stranger.

"Why would you say that?"

"Well you said I didn't want to go in the tent. I was just wondering if you'd read my mind."

"I dabble in it. Tarot cards and the like but Madame Irene is much better at it than I. If you want a more accurate reading of your future, I suggest you see her. It might not be a bad idea, seeing as you're about to be deployed for military service."

John's jaw dropped slightly. "How on Earth did you know that?"

"I didn't know, I noticed. You have the bearings of a military man but you're too eager to have seen any real action." The stranger said quickly, the words almost stringing together for how quick he spoke. "No, men who have seen war have a more vacant quality to their eyes, an almost haunted look. Had you seen action, the loud noises of the carnival would have made you wince and jump with memories of your service."

"That's incredible!" John's smile widened.

"Thank you." The man gave a small bow.

"You can really notice all that just by looking at a person?"

"Yes." The man nodded. "It is my curse. But you'd better go in, the show is about to begin."

"Oh." John turned to look towards the tent once more, wondering if he should join his friends. He found that for some reason he didn't really want to. He would much prefer talking to this alluring stranger for a bit longer. "Not sure if I want to now but I - "

When John turned back around, the man he was talking to had disappeared without a trace. John shrugged his shoulders and headed into the tent. It was crowded and smelled of men who hadn't washed in days. They were all standing around; the excitement in the air palpable. John moved through the crowd to find Bill, who had managed to get a spot right up front. John had a hell of a time trying to get through to him.

"Johnny! Saved you a spot. We'll get to see everything from here." Bill said enthusiastically.

The lights in the tent dimmed ever so slightly and the sound of a single violin cut through the noise. John stared in awe as the tall barefooted stranger stepped onto the stage, playing a violin expertly. The sounds he wrung from the instrument were hauntingly beautiful and he played with his eyes closed, making his way across the stage.

The moment he sat down in the chair set up for him, the music changed. The tempo was more upbeat and sounded more sultry than before. Two women came on stage and started to dance wearing hardly anything. John tried to watch their seductive dance, the way their bodies moved in slow unison. But his eyes kept going back to the violinist.

"Look at the tits on her eh?" Bill nudged John with his elbow and John's eyes snapped back to the women. They had removed their shirts and had their arms over their heads, wiggling their hips in time to the music. The men in the crowd were whooping and cheering them on.

John watched as best he could, trying to keep his eyes on the half naked women. They were beautiful and exotic looking to be sure yet his gaze shifted again. This time his eyes locked with the fiddle player and the musician smirked knowingly. John's face heated up in shame and he forced himself to watch the show.

The dancers managed to get their legs high up above their heads, giving the men in the audience a peek at their most delicate place. The men cheered louder and called out for more. John looked away, slightly uncomfortable of being one in a crowd of leering men. But turning away meant his eyes locked with the violinist again.

"I need some air, it's too stuffy in here." John shouted to Bill over the music.

"But you'll miss it!" Bill shouted back.

"I'm sure you'll tell me all about it later in graphic detail." John teased before making his way through the crowd of sweaty men. The moment he was outside of the tent, John took in a giant gulp of air not permeated with body odor.

He took the opportunity to look around, weaving in and out of tents to see what was inside. All around him he was surrounded by couples; boys and girls holding hands or kissing. It made John realize how lonely he was. He'd cut off most relationships when he'd signed up for the war. Now, on his eve of deployment, John had no one. He hadn't realized what a solitary life he'd been leading the last few months. He especially stayed clear of the Ferris Wheel where it was nothing but young couples.

To pass the time, John found a booth with a game. He had to throw a ball at some cups and try to knock them over. John had a pretty good arm and almost got all of them over except for one stubborn cup that refused to be knocked over. John shrugged and decided it wasn't worth his money to keep playing.

He had just walked away from the booth when he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and pulled into the shadows. "Look I have nothing of value, I have hardly any money so if – oh it's you." John recognized the fiddle player and couldn't help smiling. "Hello again."

The stranger said nothing, just stared at John, his eyes roving over his face as if looking for something. John felt the weight of that gaze on him and wanted to turn away but couldn't. The taller man took a step forward, bringing their bodies closer. John felt like he should have taken a step back but instead held his ground.

"Come to my trailer." The man said finally.

"For what?"

"You'll see." The violinist replied enigmatically. He turned on his heel and strode off, not bothering to see if John was following him. But of course John did follow him, stumbling for a minute in his haste.

The man led him to the back of the carnival where the performers lived. The place was mostly deserted since the people who lived there were currently working. But there were a few people that watched John unblinkingly, making him somewhat unsettled as he followed his mysterious violinist. They weaved through the caravans until the stranger stopped abruptly and John almost knocked into him. He grabbed a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, gesturing John inside.

The moment the door closed they were pitched into darkness. It only lasted for a few seconds as the man lit a candle. John felt the need to break the silence.

"Uh, to be perfectly honest, I have no idea what I'm doing here."

"Don't you?" The musician raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, I don't." John shook his head. The raven-haired man grinned at him and held out his hand to John. Tentatively, John took it and let out a little yelp of surprise as he was pulled forward. Before he could register what was happening, soft, full lips were on his. Strong arms encircled his waist as he was pulled closer into the other man's body.

"Wait." John broke away, putting his hands on the musician's chest to push him away slightly. "I can't do this. We can't do this. You're a man!"

"Yes?" His brow furrowed in confusion. "And I have lips and teeth and tongue just like a woman."

"But you have other parts that are not like a woman. How are we supposed to do this?" John could feel some sweat accumulate on his brow from his nervousness.

"I will show you." The man surged forward again and captured John's lips. An insistent tongue pressed against his mouth and John's lips parted of their own volition for he could not recall telling them to do so.

He couldn't help the tiny moan that escaped him as a strong and firm tongue stroked against his own. He had never kissed a woman like this, so urgent and insistent, so passionately. John was breathless and hardly able to keep up with the man who was currently invading his mouth.

"Wait." John broke away again but the violinist didn't go far. He pressed kisses to John's jaw, down to his throat. John moaned again, louder and more wantonly, feeling his cock begin to stiffen in his trousers. "I don't even know your name."

"Sherlock Holmes." The man murmured against the hollow of John's neck.

"John, John Watson." He introduced himself, gasping as sharp teeth bit at his skin. "Oh God."

"Pleasure." Sherlock replied, his dexterous fingers going to work on John's shirt. He unbuttoned it and then slowly slid it off John's shoulders. "You know you are allowed to touch me in return."

"I – I don't quite know what I'm doing. I'm not sure we should be doing this."

"Why not?" Sherlock got started on John's trousers, unbuttoning them and then slipping his hand inside. "You're attracted to me, my body needs release. This seems beneficial for all involved."

"But I'm not – I've never – " he lost all concentration as Sherlock began palming him through his underwear.

"Shh." Sherlock pressed his lips softly to John's. "Just touch me anywhere you feel comfortable and follow my lead."

John nodded and pushed Sherlock's vest off his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles underneath. He managed to get a few buttons of Sherlock's shirt open before he got distracted by his pale throat. John brushed his fingers over the ivory skin, watching Sherlock's breath hitch in his throat and then he placed a soft kiss to where neck met shoulder.

"John." Sherlock groaned, pressing his hips forward. "Don't keep me waiting."

John sucked at the skin, worrying it between his teeth. Sherlock moaned obscenely loud and John would have been concerned about the noise they were making if it hadn't been drowned out by the carnival.

John's eyes fluttered closed as Sherlock fingers brushed over his nipples. "Hmm. Sensitive." He did it again, raking his nails down John's chest and John's hips thrust forward, completely overwhelmed.

John somehow managed to finish unbuttoning Sherlock shirt, even with trembling fingers and it dropped to the floor with the rest of their clothes. John stared at the expanse of flesh now available to him. He kissed his way down from Sherlock's collarbone, licking a line to Sherlock's right nipple. He took it into his mouth and sucked on it gently but no response.

"Wasting your time there, I'm afraid."

John gave up and instead searched for Sherlock's mouth again. Their lips slotted together and John pressed up against Sherlock as tight as he could. He could feel hard flesh against his hip and he wanted more. They broke apart from their kiss so Sherlock could pull off John's undershirt and then they went immediately back to kissing.

It had been much too long since John had had another warm body pressed against his own. He didn't even really mind that it was a man's body. Sex was sex and he was just glad that someone wanted him in that way. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone would ever know.

John went for Sherlock's trousers, undoing them quickly, anxious to get to what was underneath. Sherlock had no underwear on and soon John's hand was wrapped around hot, silky skin. He stroked it the way he did to himself on so many lonely nights and was pleased with the sounds Sherlock made in reply.

"Perhaps we should get on the bed." Sherlock said, his voice lower than it had been when they'd started.

John toed off his shoes and sat down on the bed to wait. Sherlock tore through the cupboards of his caravan, apparently looking for something. He got down on his knees to search the lower cupboards and John tried not to touch himself. "Ah ha!" Sherlock held up a glass bottle of oil. "It's for the lantern." He explained and then crawled across the floor to John.

He put the oil on the bed and then settled between John's legs. He pushed John's trousers and pants down and out of the way before giving John's cock one long, tantalizing lick up the shaft. John groaned, canting his hips up towards that mouth.

He had never been in anyone's mouth before, although he had used his tongue to pleasure women in the past. But as Sherlock's mouth engulfed him, all other thoughts went out of his head. He sunk his fingers into those curls as Sherlock's head bobbed between his legs.

"Oh god." John cried out. Sherlock put his forearm across John's hips to keep him from moving, his mouth moving lower than John thought possible. "Sher – Sherlock!"

The violinist pulled off with a wet sounding pop noise. "Lie down on your stomach." Sherlock instructed, shucking off his trousers. John rolled over on the bed, settling easily on his stomach, resting his head on his arms. Sherlock rid him of the remainder of his clothes before settling on the bed next to him.

John wished he could see what was going on but was much too comfortable to move his head. John hadn't thought a bed inside a caravan could be so comfortable but his head sat upon a satin pillow. When he felt a finger press against his hole, he jerked in surprise. Sherlock put a reassuring hand on the small of his back.

"You have to relax. Concentrate on breathing in and out slowly."

John nodded and followed Sherlock's directions, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. The tension in his body ebbed and the slippery finger was back, pressing in slightly. John gasped as it pushed passed any resistance and was inside him.

"That's it." Sherlock encouraged him with a hand over his bottom.

John had never felt anything stranger than something inserted inside him. His erection had waned from the feeling and he debated asking the violinist to stop. Perhaps they could find another way to be intimate for John now knew it was something he wanted dearly.

Then the single finger brushed over a certain place inside him and John cried out in surprise. "Oh. Oh. Do that again." He begged, wondering what unusual sensation was occurring.

Sherlock worked another finger inside him and together his long, talented fingers stroked and teased over that spot, causing John to grip the sheets in his fists. He hardly registered a third finger being added until they were spread, opening him wider than he thought possible.

"I think you're ready." Sherlock's fingers were gently removed and John groaned at the emptiness he felt. The bed creaked as Sherlock got up, taking the pillow from his single chair and placing it under John's hips.

John was forced to wait some more, biting his lip, as Sherlock prepared himself. "Please." John begged, for what he wasn't quite sure, as he hardly knew what came next. His erection was back and he rubbed against the satin pillow Sherlock had just put under him.

Something blunter than fingers pressed against his entrance and John held his breath in anticipation. "Breathe John."

Sherlock pushed his way in, his hard flesh stretching John. There was a slight burn until Sherlock stilled, seated completely inside John. "It feels so strange." John buried his face in the pillow under his head, red with shame at the idea that he had let anther man inside him. He was about to ask Sherlock to pull out and he'd be on his way when Sherlock gave a few short thrusts, the head of his penis rubbing against the little spot that had been teased earlier and John moaned so loudly he was certain he had woken the dead.

Sherlock lowered himself so his chest rested against John's back. His weight was comfortable and reassuring as he began to move, thrusting slowly in and out. His hand came forward and curled around John's, their fingers twining. Each movement made John rub against the smooth satin underneath him until he could feel a damp spot from how much he had leaked.

He brought one knee up to the side, opening himself further and Sherlock sunk deeper, the slap of skin against skin was the loudest noise besides heavy breathing. "Wait." John said desperately, much too close to his own release.

"What now?" Sherlock asked in frustration.

"I want to be able to see you."

"Oh." Sherlock stopped moving and then got up, slipping out of John's body. John rolled onto his back, looking up at the man who had just been inside him. He gave a shy smile as he took in Sherlock's bitten lips from trying to keep himself quiet and his very erect cock. John's eyes widened in surprise. It was quite large and he couldn't believe such a thing had fit inside him.

Sherlock pushed John's legs open so John was exposed. He turned his face away, blushing with embarrassment. What a sight he must have been. He was about to call the whole thing off, gather his clothes and start running when Sherlock let out a strangled noise. Startled, John looked up and saw Sherlock biting his lip again, trying his best to restrain himself.

John grinned, knowing that Sherlock really did want him. He sat up and placed his hand at the nape of Sherlock's neck, bringing their lips together. John kissed the musician sweetly, unhurriedly before pulling away.

"Come on then." John glanced down suggestively and then settled himself back down on the pillow. Sherlock lied down on top of him, finding his lips again. He gripped John's thighs as he pushed back in, moaning against John's mouth.

It was much better that way, where John could look at those beautiful pale grey eyes and they could kiss. They felt closer and more intimate. Their panting drowned out the noise of the carnival, making it all seem very far away. Sherlock was propped up by his elbows, his forearms resting under John's shoulders. Their bodies were so close that each thrust made John rub against Sherlock's stomach.

John raked his fingernails down Sherlock's back, lost in the sensations. "Sherlock. Oh god. Oh god."

"John." Sherlock moaned against his ear, nipping at it.

"More." John requested, pushing his fingers into Sherlock's thick curls and holding on.

Sherlock moved faster, hips snapping as he picked up speed. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's middle to hold on. "Yes. Oh yes. Oh. Oh Sherlock!" John arched his back and spilled himself.

John became pliant underneath him as Sherlock fucked him harder, racing to his own release. His eyes widened as he ejaculated with a gasp of John's name. John felt his inside's being coated with semen and John moaned softly, feeling as if he had just been claimed.

Sherlock dropped boneless onto John and they lied together for a long time, just listening to the other breathing. John idly stroked the hair at the back of Sherlock's head, fingers getting lost in the mess of curls. John felt like he should break the silence but he was enjoying the feeling of a warm body pressed against him too much to say anything.

Sherlock did eventually get up, disentangling himself from John's limbs. He got a piece of cloth and dipped it in his washbasin, cleaning himself with it. John propped himself up on his elbows and watched as Sherlock made his way over, sitting on the edge of the bed and cleaning John as well.

They stared at each other in silence, Sherlock working slowly to rid John of his seed. John tried to think of something to say, a million words on the tip of his tongue, but none of them sounded right and he was kept silent by those piercing grey eyes.

When he had finished, Sherlock pressed a small kiss to the corner of John's mouth. He slipped on a silk dressing gown and John thought not for the first time that Sherlock didn't seem to belong in a place such as that. His accent was too posh, his belongings too nice.

Sherlock lit a cigarette and stared out the single window of his caravan. "I'll have to go play the second show soon." He said with his back to John.

"Right." John nodded, starting to gather up his clothes. It had seemed like Sherlock had been about to say something more before John had spoken. "I should probably go find my friends."

"Yes." John saw Sherlock nod his head, not turning around. The candle was much lower than it had been and John wondered just how long he'd been gone. He dressed quickly, not wanting his friends to come looking for him and see him in such a state.

"Well…" John went and stood next to Sherlock, just in his peripheral vision. "Thank you, it was…well it was fantastic."

"You're welcome." Sherlock said indifferently, sounding as if his thoughts were somewhere else, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

John made his way to the door of the caravan, turning back for one last look at the tall violinist. The other man didn't so much as spare him a glance and John felt strange, like he'd been used. But then what had Sherlock said, that his body needed release. Perhaps that was all that it was. Even if that were true, John didn't regret it.

"Goodbye." He said on his way out and received nothing in return but silence.

He made his way back, lost in his thoughts, letting the sounds of the carnival guide him. "Johnny!" Bill called out, waving his arms at him. "There you are! I was just starting to get worried."

"Sorry mate." John forced a smile onto his face, knowing he couldn't tell Bill where he'd been.

"Come on, I wanna get my fortune told." Bill slapped him on the back and led him towards an extravagant looking tent.

"One at a time." A red-haired woman standing outside said as Bill and John approached. John gestured for Bill to go ahead as he had no interest in learning his fortune. Bill grinned widely at him and stepped in.

John stood outside, waiting for his friend, watching the world bustling around him. He thought about how easy it would be to get lost in the crowd, be just one face among the many. Just as he was thinking it, a man who very much stood out from the crowd passed by. John wanted to call out to Sherlock but it looked like he was in a hurry, pushing through the bodies with his violin case. John noticed with a touch of pride the mark just starting to be visible against Sherlock's collar.

Their eyes met and John's breath caught for he had not been expecting it. He gave a slight smile, ducking his head slightly to hide his blush. When he looked back, Sherlock was grinning. It made John's insides doing an interesting sort of flip that they'd never done before. He could still feel Sherlock inside him, his body feeling almost empty now. Then Sherlock disappeared from sight, slipping behind one of the tents, and John thought it was probably for the best.

**The High Priestess**

"You." The red-haired woman pointed at John the moment Bill stepped out of the tent. "Madame Irene will see you next."

"Oh." John looked around at all the people waiting to get their fortune told. Some of them seemed to be growing impatient. Besides, John didn't really believe in this sort of thing anyway. It seemed like a waste of time. 'Thank you but I don't want to know my future."

"Madame Irene insists."

"Go on Johnny, it's a hoot." Bill shoved him towards the tent. John turned around to glare at him but still followed to woman into the large purple and red tent. The place was dark, a few small candles providing the only light as he went through the entrance.

"So, are you Madame Irene then?" John asked as he was led through an area of hanging silk scarves. He couldn't help feeling the entire place was a fire hazard.

"Oh no, I'm Kate. Madame Irene's assistant. This…" She pulled back the last curtain to reveal the main part of the tent. There was a low table with two cushions placed on opposite sides of it. Sitting in one was a striking woman with dark hair pinned stylishly up into a bun. There was a single oil lamp on the edge of the table, flickering a soft glow on the woman's face and accentuating her cheekbones. "Is Madame Irene."

"Oh." John blinked at the woman, a bit dumbstruck by her beauty and then turned to Kate, looking at her questioningly.

"Just have a seat." Kate informed him with a kind smile.

John nodded quickly and made his way over to the empty cushion, careful not to jostle anything on his way over. One wrong move and the whole place would go up in flames. He barely had money for the fortune and the bus ride home, nevermind paying the damages if he were to accidentally set the tent on fire.

"Hello." Irene smiled at him as he sat down, her ruby lips stretching over perfect white teeth. "What's your name?"

"John." He cleared his throat nervously, realizing that Kate had disappeared and it was just him and this strange woman in the mostly dark tent. Not that he was frightened, just on guard and unsettled.

"John." Irene repeated and got her Tarot cards out. "I need you to cut the deck for me."

She shuffled the cards twice and then handed the deck over to him. He cut the deck in half and placed one pile off to the side, then in half again, until there were three piles in front of him. She flipped over the first card and John leaned in to read it.

"The Hermit. You've a lived a solitary life, cutting yourself off from people. Lonely without really connecting to anyone."

John rubbed his hands together under the table and didn't comment. He didn't really believe in this stuff but that was…fairly accurate. With his family all gone, including his sister Harriet, John really didn't have any family to speak up. He'd lived with his Aunt Mildred until he'd been old enough to move out on his own.

Miss Irene flipped over the next card and John instantly started blushing the moment he saw it. "The lovers. Someone very important has just come into your life. Someone who will hold great significance to you."

John's mind instantly flashed to Sherlock and their activities for the past hour. He could feel his cheeks heat up even more and the slight ache in his bum. He bit his tongue and tried to think about anything else.

"Lastly," Irene flipped over the final card. "The seven of cups. Indecision. You have a very important choice in your future. One that could very well change your life."

John stared at the three cards. He didn't put stock into the whole thing, he didn't. But how could she have known that someone had very recently come into John's life? Was she simply guessing? Well John knew one thing for certain; he didn't want to leave without seeing Sherlock again.

"I – I have to go." John stood up and placed a few notes on the table before rushing from the tent.

"John?" Bill called after him but John kept going, running to the back of the carnival to where Sherlock's caravan had been. He pounded on the door and waited. Unable to hear any movement inside, John knocked a bit louder and then listened again.

"Damn it." John swore and walked away, his hands shoved in his pockets.

**The Magician**

"You owe me one." Irene told Sherlock the moment he entered her tent.

"So John came to see you?" Sherlock inferred, grinning triumphantly at having guess right.

"Yes, and I don't like lying to my customers. The cards are supposed to reveal the truth, not fabricate it." Irene scolded and sat down, crossing her legs and staring up at Sherlock accusingly.

"You didn't lie to him, you just told him what he needed to hear." Sherlock insisted, sitting down opposite her.

"It was a dirty trick and you know it. And you still haven't told me why you're so interested in him."

Sherlock's grin widened. "And I'm not going to."

Irene gasped indignantly. "You're a horrible man, Sherlock Holmes."

"Somehow I think you'll live." Sherlock chuckled and got up out of his chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"One of these days Sherlock, I'm going to ask you a question and you're actually going to answer it."

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock walked to the front of her tent and turned back slightly to speak. "You're a psychic."

He managed to get through the flap of the tent before Irene threw her shoe at him. He walked back towards his caravan, whistling as he went. Just as he passed the edge of the carnival, three figures appeared from around the corner. Sherlock stopped whistling when he saw them.

"Ah, Anderson, here we are again." Sherlock said, keeping his tone light, as he recognized one of the men before him.

"We know what you are, freak." Anderson spat at him. "We've seen you taking men back to your trailer. What you're doing is a sin."

"What I'm doing is none of your business." Sherlock sniffed and tried to walk past them. The other two blocked his path.

"Leaving so soon?" Anderson sneered and his two cronies grabbed Sherlock by his arms, restraining him.

"Isn't there that saying about he without sin casting the first stone?" Sherlock inquired, trying to wiggle free from the two men holding him.

"And?"

"Are you're really passing judgment on me for what I do when you're having an affair? With a dark-skinned girl no less."

"You been spying on me freak?" Anderson hissed and stepped forward, swinging his arm back and bringing it forward, punching Sherlock in the gut. Sherlock doubled over, putting on a good show. The punch had barely hurt him but he didn't want them to know that and start punching harder.

"As though I would waste my time with such a dull activity." Sherlock scoffed. "I can barely stand to look at you now, why would I go out of my way to do so?"

"You think you're funny, freak?" Anderson brought his fist back, ready to throw another punch.

"What the hell are you doing?" All four men stopped and turned towards the person who had just spoken. Sherlock breathed out a sigh of relief when he recognized John. John stepped closer. "Let him go."

"This isn't your concern. This man is a freak."

"Look at where you are." John stared dumbfounded at Anderson. "You seriously came to a Carnival to pick on people who are different from you?"

"Well I –"

"Just walk away. Now." John said through clenched teeth and his voice was so commanding it sent a shiver through Sherlock, even though he wasn't even the one it was directed at.

Anderson sputtered for a moment and finally called his cronies off. John waited until they were gone before he closed the space between them. "Are you all right?" he asked, checking Sherlock over for bruises.

"I'm fine." Sherlock assured him and then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and twisted, bringing John closer. Their lips met as Sherlock kissed John soundly, John's lips already beginning to feel familiar pressed against his own. When he pulled away, John blinked up at him, a grin spreading onto his face. "What was that for?"

"You are…extraordinary." Sherlock breathed and laced his fingers through John's and tugged him towards his caravan.

Once the door had been slammed shut behind them, Sherlock attacked John's mouth again, crowding him against his small table. He managed to get John's trousers open and down before shifting him so he was seated on the table. Sherlock undid his own trousers and brought his cocks together, licking the palm of his hand to ease the way. John threw his head back with a moan and Sherlock took it as an invitation to start kissing John's neck.

Placing his free hand on the cabinet behind John's head, he began to thrust, his cock rubbing pleasurably against John's. Sherlock reveled in the skin on skin contact and the way John was panting into his ear. "Sher – Sherlock." John gasped, putting his hands flat on the table behind him and thrusting up. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist for more leverage.

"John." Sherlock moaned and nipped at John's ear. He was already close, much too close. He had already found release, he wasn't supposed to need this again. But he wanted it. His hips stilled as he came, burying his face in John's neck. John brought one arm around Sherlock and the other around his prick and brought himself to completion.

For a while they did nothing but breathe, John still wrapped around Sherlock, their foreheads resting together. "Thank you." John whispered, pressing his lips sweetly against Sherlock's.

"For?"

"If I die tomorrow, I can honestly say that tonight was fantastic." John told him, grinning widely.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Die."

John chuckled. "I'll try not to."

Sherlock moved back so that John could hop off the table. They redid and straightened their clothes. An awkward bit of silence settled between them where Sherlock tried to think of anything to say to get John to stay and John tried to think of the best way to excuse himself without being rude.

"My friends are waiting." John informed him, heading towards the door.

"Of course." Sherlock nodded. He honestly hadn't expected John to come back after their somewhat chilly departure earlier. The fact that he had was quite incredible.

John was halfway out the door when he turned back. "Look, I know you and I don't know each other all that well but... could I write to you?"

"Pardon?"

"It's stupid, I know, but I don't have anyone. My family is all dead and I just thought it might make things easier if I had, you know, someone."

"Oh."

"I just thought maybe –"

"Yes."

"Sorry?"

"Yes, you can write to me. There's this woman who lives at 221B Baker street, send your letters there and she'll make sure I get them."

"221B Baker Street. Got it."

John nodded his head once, smiling brightly, his expression open and hopeful, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

**Strength**

_Sherlock,_

_ I've tried for the past week to write to you but I can never think of what to say. Maybe this was all just a mistake. You and I don't know each other at all. I'm practically a stranger to you so why should you care what's going on with me? But in the off chance that you do care, I'll give it a shot._

_ I always used to dream about traveling when I was a boy. Seeing the world sounds pretty exciting. I think that's why I chose to join the army in the first place. I never imagined my first time outside of England would be on the front lines of Germany._

_ It's quite dangerous here. Is it odd that I find that a bit exciting? You can tell the new recruits from the men who have been here for a while. As you said when we first met, they have a haunted look about them. I don't want them to think I'm naïve or something but I do find it all thrilling. I am staying as safe as possible under the circumstances._

_ I keep telling myself that you told me not to die and so therefore I can't. I know it seems a bit weird to keep myself alive just for that reason but it's something to cling to. Somehow it gives me courage._

_ -John_

_**John –**_

**_ If the weather in Germany is anything like it is in England, you must be freezing. Mrs. Hudson, the woman who is acting as our letterbox almost made me send you an quilt. Would you like a quilt? Would you even have anywhere to put it? I know little of war other than it is violent and senseless. My brother has done everything he can to keep me out of it. If we stay in war for much longer, even he might not be able to stop me being drafted. They're saying this war might spand years._**

**_ I know you like a bit of risk but I'm glad you're staying safe. However, please don't stay alive just for me. Stay alive for yourself. I don't want you to die but you mustn't want it either. You must have a bit of a death wish to sign up for the war voluntarily._**

**_ You're right, we don't know each other very well. It doesn't stop me from thinking about you often, wondering if you're safe. So please, write soon and ease my troubled mind._**

**_ -Sherlock Holmes_**

_ Sherlock –_

_ It is cold here and I would put a quilt in my rucksack, were I to have one. I would hate to trouble Mrs. Hudson though, she's already doing enough for us. It's hard to get to sleep some nights with the amount of chattering my teeth do. At some points you sleep just to keep your sanity. I think the cold has made a home in my bones._

_ How are things at the Carnival? You must be in a different town by now. Staying out of trouble with the locals I hope since I'm not around to act as your knight in shining armor anymore. Perhaps you should learn to defend yourself while I'm away._

_ I hope everything is good. You'd tell me if it wasn't right? The last thing I wanted was to burden you worrying about me. If this is too much, you don't have to write me anymore._

_ -John_

_**Idiot,**_

**_ It's not a burden to write you or in fact to worry. I simply wish you to return to England in one piece. I don't have much else to occupy my time with. Other than playing the usual two shows and keeping myself fed, I spend my time worrying about you or in Irene's tent practicing Tarot. Perhaps the next time I see you, I will be able to read your future._**

**_ The Carnival is in Leeds right now, just arrived last night. The crowds aren't as large here as they usually are however there is no shortage of sweaty, leering men to watch the women dance. The masses in general disgust me, which is why I sought the solace of the Carnival in the first place. Everyone is so exceedingly dull it makes me want to cut my ears off so I no longer have to listen to their drivel. Such is the life I lead._**

**_ I've discovered something wonderful: bare-kunckle boxing. It alleviates my boredom and is teaching me to defend myself._**

- **_Sherlock Holmes_**

_Charmer,_

_If you insist that it's no trouble to write to me, I will take your word for it. Tell Mrs. Hudson thank you for the quilt. I am now the envy of my platoon and I covet my quilt. I've managed to sleep the last three nights thanks to it. So please pass on my thanks._

_ Also please don't cut off your ears for I am quite fond of them. It would be better to simply stick your fingers in them when someone is boring you or just walk away. I never envisioned you as a boxer but at least you're doing something. Be careful yeah?_

_You never told me, why did you join the Carnival? I've always wondered how someone got into that line of work. It's not as if someone goes to school for it. You never really seemed like you belonged there based on what I saw. Or perhaps I've gotten it all wrong. Either way, I'd like to know. Not all of us can see everything from a glance._

_ -John_

_**John,**_

**_I started at the Carnival because I wanted to get away. My entire childhood was quite lonely. I had no friends to speak of, my brother was too old to bother with me and I spent most of my time alone. At school most people hated me, I was teased and ridiculed, shunned for being different._**

**_ Adults always insisted that things would be different when I went to University. At Cambridge nothing was all the different at all. I was still hated and left on my own with no real friends. I was meant to become a great scientist or philosopher or anything really. I probably could have been anything I wanted, I was born into money and privilege. Yet I knew wherever I went, I would not be accepted._**

**_ On my last day of University, the Carnival came to our school as a celebration for the graduating class. I walked through the entire thing and saw a place where the shunned and ridiculed gathered to celebrate their differences. I didn't even go to my graduation. Without telling anyone, I stowed away onto one of the wagons and went with them to the next town._**

**_ Irene found me and took pity on me. When she learned I could play the violin, she set me up working in the Carnival. I eventually saved up enough to buy my own caravan and I've been living with them ever since. I've never understood that feeling of "home" people get but I think the Carnival is the closest I've ever come._**

**_ Perhaps one day I'll decide to do something else but for now I'm content where I am. Just one more freak amongst the rest._**

**_ -Sherlock Holmes_**

**The Emperor**

Sherlock sat at his table, applying rosin to his bow. He had a show in an hour but all he could think about was John's letter. He was expecting one to come any day now. In fact it should have been there a few days ago. But Sherlock had promised himself he wouldn't worry. John couldn't write on a set schedule after all. It didn't mean anything that John hadn't written yet. He wasn't dead in a trench somewhere. He wasn't.

A knock on the door pulled Sherlock from his reverie. "Come in." he called, putting his violin down. The moment he saw the top of his brother's fat head appear through his door he called out again. "Get out."

"Now, is that any way to treat a brother who has come all this way just to see you?" Mycroft asked, entering Sherlock's home without an invitation and sitting his fat bottom down.

"You should have saved yourself the trip." Sherlock grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now Sherlock, don't be like that or I shan't give you your letter." Mycroft chastised, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope. Sherlock sat up straight immediately as he recognized John's handwriting and reached for it but Mycroft pulled it away. "Ah, I will give you this letter after I've finished saying what I've come here to say."

"Then get on with it." Sherlock snapped.

"Christmas is a mere three months away and Mummy would like you to come home for Christmas dinner."

"No."

"You haven't seen your family in five years Sherlock. Come home and stop this childish charade."

"This is my home now." Sherlock gestured around him. "And did you ever think for one second that this is what makes me happy."

Mycroft snorted. "How can it? You are brilliant Sherlock. You have a mind that is the envy of most in the world and yet you squander it in this God forsaken place. What is there here to fulfill you? To challenge you? You could be so much more."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached behind his ear, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it on his oil lamp and took a long drag. "I'm not looking for something more."

Mycroft wrinkled his nose as Sherlock blew smoke into his face. "You do not belong here."

Sherlock sneered around his cigarette and inhaled more smoke. "What would you know about where I belong? I've felt more myself here than any place I've ever been. You won't talk me out of this Mycroft. This is who I am now."

"This can't be enough for you."

"It is. Not all freaks are those born with birth defects."

"You are not a freak."

Sherlock stubbed his cigarette out on the table and stood up. "Goodbye Mycroft, I have to get ready for my show. Leave the letter and go."

Mycroft opened his mouth as if meaning to say something more but promptly shut it. With as much dignity as possible, he walked to the door while Sherlock kept his back to him the whole time.

The moment the door was closed, Sherlock lunged for the letter, needing something. Just the idea of John was enough to calm him down from the intense rage filling him from Mycroft visiting. Sherlock was supposed to be safe from his old life, not hounded by his stupid brother. But reading John's letter would help.

_Sherlock,_

_ God, your last letter. I want to talk about it, I really do. Thank you so much for telling me about it. Although I'm a bit too shaken up and I need to tell you something. I've killed a man. Well obviously I've killed men before, we're in a war. This time was different though. It was up close and this was the first time I saw the light leave his eyes._

_ He had been sneaking over to our trench with a grenade and I had to. If he had succeeded, so many men would have died, my comrades would have died. I killed him. I took a human life and I can't stop thinking about it, imagining the moment when I pulled the trigger and a man stopped breathing in front of me. I did that. There was a man and now there isn't and it is because of me._

_ How do I go on living knowing what I'm capable of? How do I live with this guilt Sherlock?_

- _John_

**_John,_**

**_You are in a war. You had to have known this day would come. Perhaps I'm not the right person to talk to about this? I've never killed anything more substantial than a frog to dissect. I'm not sure I'm capable of helping you through this. It's not exactly my area of expertise._**

**_ John, you need to focus on the lives you saved and not the life you took. Think of the good men who you saved by doing what you did. This is why you went to war, is it not? Think of the women back home that will not be widows because of your actions. The children who still have fathers. The men in your platoon are lucky that you are so quick thinking and willing to do what you have done._**

**_ Just do me one favour John. Come home in one piece._**

- **_Sherlock Holmes_**

_Sherlock,_

_Thank you for your last letter. It helped more than you know. God, Sherlock what are we doing? When you said to come home in one piece I know you meant home to England but the first thing I thought of was you, coming home to you. When did you become my idea of home?_

_ I get a short leave for Christmas. The plan was to go to my friend Mike's and yet I would like to see you. Is that all right? Would you even wish to see me again? We only met for a brief time and I would understand if you did not want me intruding on your Christmas._

_ In the off chance that you do, please let me know._

_ Surprisingly hopeful,_

- _John_

**_Stupid,_**

**_ Come home. Come home to me._**

- **_Sherlock Holmes_**

**The WheelOf Fortune**

Sherlock sat on the steps of his caravan, chain-smoking in the cold. John was due to arrive sometimes that day and Sherlock did not intend to move until he had. It had been nearly six months since he'd seen John. Six months since that warm summer's eve when a soon to be soldier had walked into his life. Now John was coming back and it felt like the best Christmas present Sherlock had ever received.

His foot tapped incessantly out of nervousness. John would be different, of course he would be. Would he still want Sherlock or would he have changed his mind?

The moment Sherlock saw that familiar figure off in the distance, he stubbed out his cigarette and ran into his caravan. He gargled mouthwash so he wouldn't taste like an ashtray, spiting it out the window. He fixed his clothes and checked his hair in the mirror, attempting to tame his wild curls.

His heart leapt in his chest when he heard a knock on his door. He wrenched the door open and drank in the sight of Corporal John Watson. "Hello stranger." John said, a grin breaking out onto his face. Sherlock found himself returning it.

"Hello John." Sherlock grabbed the front of John's shirt and pulled him inside. Their lips met in a hungry kiss as John backed them up closer to the bed. He began unbuttoning Sherlock's coat when Sherlock grabbed his hands to stop him. "Before we remove any clothes I should get a fire going or we'll freeze to death."

"Probably a good plan." John nodded. He slipped off his rucksack and placed it by the bed. Sherlock liked seeing John's things in his home. It made it feel complete somehow.

They barely spoke as Sherlock got the fire going and the more the silence dragged on, the more Sherlock began to worry. "Maybe we shouldn't do this." Sherlock stood up, the fire crackling behind him in the furnace.

"Do what?" John asked.

"Christmas together. Maybe you shouldn't be here. After all we hardly know each other and you must have somewhere else you'd rather be. People make a big deal out of Christmas and you should spend it with family." Sherlock said quickly, wondering if it had all been a huge mistake. It was one thing to be able to carry on a conversation through letters, it was quite another when that person was standing in front of you. "Do you even want to be here or do you feel obligated because I wrote to you?"

"Sherlock." John stood up, his hands clenched into fists. "Did you even read my letters or did you just use them as fuel for the fire?"

"Of course I read them." Sherlock said sincerely, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Then how can you ask me that question?"

Sherlock surged forward and wrapped his arms around John in a tight hug. "I hardly know you. It makes no sense for me to have missed you as much as I did."

John huffed out a laugh. "I missed you too."

Sherlock pulled back slightly so their lips could meet. He took his time relearning John's mouth, his tongue exploring it entirely. Slowly they made their way to the bed, shedding their clothes as the fire warmed the caravan.

Sherlock pressed John into the mattress and started exploring his body, his lips and tongue finding every inch of his skin. When he took John into his mouth, he did so at a languid pace, licking from his balls and up the shaft until he took the head into his mouth. He repeated it again and again until his tongue had covered every bit of John's genitals.

Sherlock's lips were swollen, his mouth tasting of John's release, when he crawled back up the bed to kiss him again. John was soft and pliant beneath him and Sherlock's oiled fingers slipped inside his relaxed body easily. Placing a pillow under John's hips, Sherlock eased inside him, taking his time and indulging in John. His thrusts were slow but deep, pulling nearly all the way out each time before pushing back in.

His orgasm built and built, tightening in his stomach until he released. When he was finished and the world had righted itself again, he stared down at John for quite some time and John stared right back. He pulled out gingerly and dropped down so his head was resting on John's chest. He felt John's hand come up and begin stroking his hair.

"I've never had a good thing before." Sherlock spoke quietly. "I've never had something that was mine that was something good that I actually wanted."

"Sherlock –"

"I do not want you to go back."

"I have to."

"The idea of it makes my stomach clench painfully. I don't like it."

"I'm sorry." John whispered, bringing his hand down to rub Sherlock's back.

"Thank you." Sherlock murmured against John's skin.

"For what?"

"Not dying."

**The Moon**

John awoke later that night to an empty bed. He grabbed the quilt Mrs. Hudson had made him and wrapped it around himself. It needed a good washing but it served his purposes well enough for the moment. He found Sherlock outside, smoking and staring up at the moon.

John smiled as walked over, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "I love the moon." He told Sherlock softly as Sherlock blew smoke up into the sky. "It was a comfort in Germany, probably because it made me think of you. It's a nice sort of thing, isn't it, that no matter where you are in the world, we're all looking up at the same moon. I just stare at it during the night and wonder if you're doing the same. It's like a connection through all that distance."

"I never really thought about it." Sherlock shrugged.

"I suppose it's a bit too sentimental for you." John chuckled.

"When I look up at the moon I see myself reflected in it. How solitary it is up there, surrounded by nothing but blackness. I can relate."

"If you're the moon, what am I?" John inquired, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself.

"You're the sun, bright and brilliant, lighting up the sky, making things grow."

"That's lovely." John breathed out. "Yet the sun and the moon are hardly ever in the sky at the same time."

"Something we can relate to, don't you think?"

"I suppose so."

**The Hanged Man**

Sherlock did his best not to turn bitter in John's absence. They still wrote to each other as often as they could and Sherlock lived for the days a letter would arrive. Spending Christmas with John was one of the best memories Sherlock had, not just of the holiday but from his entire life.

He continued traveling from town to town with the Carnival but it began to weigh on him. Each town felt the same, blending together in his mind to the point where it felt like he had not gone anywhere at all. People's faces melded together until he could hardly recognize one person from another. None of them were John, so what did it matter?

He contemplated leaving the Carnival. He needed something else to occupy his mind. The cigarettes helped calm his mind when it got to be too much but he required something more. Perhaps his brother had been right and he needed something more challenging. Yet Sherlock had no idea what that might be.

After months of nothingness, only living for the next letter, Sherlock finally left the Carnival. He sold his caravan and used the money to rent a flat from Mrs. Hudson. He filled it with things, books and science equipment but still it did not slake his need for something more.

He ended each letter to John the same way. **_Come Home. Come home to me. –Sherlock Holmes. _**However the war dragged on and John did not return to England. His next leave would not be fore another few months and Sherlock was counting down the days.

**Death**

Sherlock was in the middle of an experiment involving the toes he'd gotten from the morgue when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Judging by the heaviness of the steps, Sherlock deduced his brother had come visiting. Sherlock stood up and debated locking the door when it opened and Mycroft walked in. An insult was on the tip of his tongue when he noticed Mycroft's expression.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, panic rising in his chest. "Mummy?"

"No." Mycroft shook his head. "It's that soldier fellow you were writing to, John Watson, correct?"

"What's happened?" Sherlock stomach twisted into painful knots. "Where is John?"

"He was shot during action. I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Is he dead?" Sherlock asked around the lump in his throat. He grabbed his brother by the lapels of his suit and shook him. "Tell me Mycroft. Is John alive?"

"The bullet was dug out of his shoulder and he's being transported back to England. The wound was infected but they're going to do all they can. I'll know more when he's crossed the border back into this country."

"Save him." Sherlock begged, clutching his brother for fear he might collapse if he let go. "Mycroft you have to save him."

"He really means that much to you?"

"You know he does or you would not have come to tell me this information yourself. You would have sent one of your lackeys."

"Brother mine, I've waited quite a long time to see you care for someone. I never imagined it would be an ordinary soldier."

"He may be a solider but he is anything except ordinary."

"Indeed." Mycroft nodded and patted Sherlock's shoulder in condolences. "I will do all I can."

**Temperance**

The moment he was able, Sherlock made his way to the hospital John where John was being treated. He sat by John's bedside and waited. John's fever kept him somewhat delirious but Sherlock would not let go of his hand. It was clammy and sweaty in his own but Sherlock hardly minded.

After three days the fever finally broke and when John's eyes blinked open, Sherlock had never seen anything so blue. "Sherlock?" John asked hoarsely, obviously confused about where he was and how he had gotten there.

"You're home." Sherlock told him before John's eyes shut again and he went back to sleep.

**The World**

John's arm was around Sherlock as they slowly made their way up the seventeen steps to 221B Baker street. John was still exhausted and drained from being shot and fighting his infection but Sherlock had managed to get his discharged from the hospital.

"Welcome home." Sherlock said cheerfully as the door swung open. John removed his arm from around Sherlock and hobbled inside, getting a look around. Sherlock watched him from the doorway and he took off his coat and hung it up.

"You live here?" John asked, running his hands over the furniture. It was a little messier than Sherlock would have liked but he'd been away at the hospital with no time to clean. He'd have to fix that over the course of the week.

"We live here." Sherlock corrected, walking over to John and taking his jacket. He hung it up beside his own and it looked right.

"You want me to move in with you?" John asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Of course." Sherlock walked over and tentatively reached for John. The ex-soldier seemed to know what he was attempting because he wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him close. "There's another bedroom upstairs."

John tilted his head up and kissed Sherlock sweetly. "Why would we be needing two?"

Sherlock smiled against John's lips. "No reason at all."


End file.
